knowledge that America would never be the same again. Everything man had done had been torn into a new gig, a phrase from his college days. Asunder was the new word.
Robert also began to realize that although it was eight o’clock in the morning and the sun was up, it was 8 degrees F and all he had on was a suit coat. In the distance to the SW the sky was black with volcanic ash.
“Shit!” he shouted.
Robert stood on the east side of the Fort Peck Dam and watched as his rental car was gobbled by the lake, now quickly part of the downstream Missouri River. The dam itself actually ran east-west, right at a point where the Missouri River started one of its oxbow whirly-gigs. Visitors, including Robert, drove across the dam from the west to the eastern side, parked and visited. To the left were the dam and the flatlands he’d crossed in the morning. On the eastern side was nothing but rolling crappy land.
And nothing but a good old parka in that car, he thought to himself. Yep, nothing but a nice, warm parka; you got out of the car, took off your fucking parka because it was too warm at the time; morning sunlight, no breeze, and the damn thing was so thick; and put it back into the car on the driver’s side. You fucking idiot. Now your car is floating toward St. Louis, probably to be a tourist destination at Garrison Dam; Look, kids! Inside that car is the parka the idiot manager of the Bureau of Land Management needed to prevent from freezing to death during the Great Event. But, no! It’s still there. And the idiot manager of the Bureau of Land Management froze to death out there in Eastern Fucking Jeezebutt Montana. Kids, there is a lesson to be learned here .
It was possible someone might be alive in the power control towers at the dam, since they were both still standing; but, it was unlikely for long. The incredible power of flowing water would wear the foundations down to the point where the buildings would be compromised at the sub-foundation level, then simply collapse. Everyone inside would be killed; no matter that they would stumble their way to the top of the building.
There were no rescue helicopters. The buildings would surely topple and any survivors would be dumped, building and all, into the 33-degree Missouri River. Colder than a witch’s tit, they used to say.
While thoughts of his hot wife Nancy did flit through the synapses of his brain, God had sent him an emergency IM. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE AND FIND SOMETHING WARM which filled the foreground. The sight in front of him was unbelievable. The “cookie” which was the earthen dam had been eaten away from below, allowing the impounded Missouri River to break through at its most narrow point; unfortunately destroying the two control tower buildings and the water pumping facility upstream at the mouth of the four tunnels on the lake side of the dam.
I’m on the wrong side of the fucking dam, he thought. Over there, across the breech in the dam are two roads that lead to Fort Peck, Montana. But, I’m not over there. I’m over here. There aren’t two roads leading to Fort Peck, Montana. Or to Nashua, Montana as there are on the other fucking side of the fucking dam. No, the only road leading from the eastern side of the dam was back into the middle of absolutely nowhere.
Tucking his hands into his pockets, Robert O’Brien turned and started walking east away from the Fort Peck Dam.
It was eight degrees F at 9:30 A.M. There was no chance of him being discovered and rescued by anyone. There was no way. He reached for his cell phone and fumbled for the power-on. Blu-blu-bloop it replied cheerily. No bars. No signal. No phone, no pool, no pets.
Nature had played a trump card. Robert took one last look at the raging waters of Lake Fort Peck as they plowed through the dam, falling 200 feet into the Missouri River.
I’m going to freeze to death.
With one forlorn look behind
Robert also began to realize that although it was eight o’clock in the morning and the sun was up, it was 8 degrees F and all he had on was a suit coat. In the distance to the SW the sky was black with volcanic ash.
“Shit!” he shouted.
Robert stood on the east side of the Fort Peck Dam and watched as his rental car was gobbled by the lake, now quickly part of the downstream Missouri River. The dam itself actually ran east-west, right at a point where the Missouri River started one of its oxbow whirly-gigs. Visitors, including Robert, drove across the dam from the west to the eastern side, parked and visited. To the left were the dam and the flatlands he’d crossed in the morning. On the eastern side was nothing but rolling crappy land.
And nothing but a good old parka in that car, he thought to himself. Yep, nothing but a nice, warm parka; you got out of the car, took off your fucking parka because it was too warm at the time; morning sunlight, no breeze, and the damn thing was so thick; and put it back into the car on the driver’s side. You fucking idiot. Now your car is floating toward St. Louis, probably to be a tourist destination at Garrison Dam; Look, kids! Inside that car is the parka the idiot manager of the Bureau of Land Management needed to prevent from freezing to death during the Great Event. But, no! It’s still there. And the idiot manager of the Bureau of Land Management froze to death out there in Eastern Fucking Jeezebutt Montana. Kids, there is a lesson to be learned here .
It was possible someone might be alive in the power control towers at the dam, since they were both still standing; but, it was unlikely for long. The incredible power of flowing water would wear the foundations down to the point where the buildings would be compromised at the sub-foundation level, then simply collapse. Everyone inside would be killed; no matter that they would stumble their way to the top of the building.
There were no rescue helicopters. The buildings would surely topple and any survivors would be dumped, building and all, into the 33-degree Missouri River. Colder than a witch’s tit, they used to say.
While thoughts of his hot wife Nancy did flit through the synapses of his brain, God had sent him an emergency IM. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE AND FIND SOMETHING WARM which filled the foreground. The sight in front of him was unbelievable. The “cookie” which was the earthen dam had been eaten away from below, allowing the impounded Missouri River to break through at its most narrow point; unfortunately destroying the two control tower buildings and the water pumping facility upstream at the mouth of the four tunnels on the lake side of the dam.
I’m on the wrong side of the fucking dam, he thought. Over there, across the breech in the dam are two roads that lead to Fort Peck, Montana. But, I’m not over there. I’m over here. There aren’t two roads leading to Fort Peck, Montana. Or to Nashua, Montana as there are on the other fucking side of the fucking dam. No, the only road leading from the eastern side of the dam was back into the middle of absolutely nowhere.
Tucking his hands into his pockets, Robert O’Brien turned and started walking east away from the Fort Peck Dam.
It was eight degrees F at 9:30 A.M. There was no chance of him being discovered and rescued by anyone. There was no way. He reached for his cell phone and fumbled for the power-on. Blu-blu-bloop it replied cheerily. No bars. No signal. No phone, no pool, no pets.
Nature had played a trump card. Robert took one last look at the raging waters of Lake Fort Peck as they plowed through the dam, falling 200 feet into the Missouri River.
I’m going to freeze to death.
With one forlorn look behind
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